I came to you
in the dead of the night
when you needed me least
when you were too young to see it.

You passed us by, everyday,
that look on your face,
like she was a stranger,
like I wasn't yours.

But I was yours and she wasn't,
so you told her to leave,
and you used me as a weapon
to spread your disease.

I grew and matured,
and you used me
like the branches of the tree
to climb to what you wanted.

You screamed in my ear
that I needed you,
that I sucked you dry
and abused your smile.

I grew up much too fast,
was old by sixteen,
had a forty year old child,
and had so much more to learn.

You said it was me,
that you were my splint,
my crutch, my savior, my salvation,
and I was a parasite.

So I left,
and you shriveled,
and I tasted life,
and you said I bit the hand that fed.

But if it happened that way,
if I was blind and you could see,
then I would rather be lame
than be blinded by the lies.